


The Shortest Distance Between Two Points

by smithereen



Category: JONAS
Genre: F/M, Fashion as Foreplay, Kissing, Prom, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithereen/pseuds/smithereen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe is an idiot, but it all turns out right in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shortest Distance Between Two Points

"So," Joe asks casually while Stella is fitting his completely awesome new blazer with the plaid lining. "Do you have a date for prom yet?" He winces when she jabs him in the side with a pin. "Ow."

She spits the pins she had clenched between her teeth into her hand, holding them awkwardly in front of her for a minute before jabbing them into the couch cushions, wiping her hand as an afterthought. "Um," she says. "Why? Do _you_ have a date for prom yet?" He hopes he did a better job with his casual voice than she's doing with hers because hers is really not that good. It makes him pretty happy to hear how not that casual it sounds. She reaches over to re-grip the side of his jacket, closing the seam up again with more pins that she seems to be pulling magically from her hair or something.

"Not yet," he says. His casual voice feels like it's getting less casual all the time as her fingers tickle along his ribs, tucking and pulling and pinning and _touching_.

"I think Doug from the softball team might ask me." She pushes a little of her hair behind her ear, her tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration as she tugs on a seam.

"Yeah," Joe says. "Probably Sarah from Spanish is going to ask me." He yelps as another pin jabs into his very delicate, very undeserving of such abuse skin.

"Sorry," she mutters. She doesn't sound sorry.

"I mean, maybe she's going to ask Eric," Joe says. "It could go either way."

"Eric's really good-looking," she says.

"Thanks."

"And smart."

"Great." Joe frowns.

"I just meant, maybe you should have a back-up plan. Just in case."

"What about you?"

"I'm pretty sure Doug's not going to ask Eric." Her lips purse thoughtfully. "Although…"

"No I meant, maybe you could be my backup plan."

She blinks at him. "Your _what_?"

"You know, if neither of us has a date then we can go together?" He doesn't mean for his voice to slide up so high at the end there. He clears his throat. "Anyway, at least it's better than going alone, right? I mean, you're... Okay-looking and-"

"You want me to be your 'just in case no one better asks me' date?"

"Exactly!" he says, and then realizes that she's not blinking. That she hasn't blinked in a really, really long time. And she's breathing hard through wide, flared nostrils. And her hands are curled into claws like she wants to make them fists but she can't since they're all filled with pins. Shiny, sharp pins.

Oh. Crap.

"What I _meant_ to say-" is all he manages to choke out before he's leaping over the back of the couch, ducking down behind it to keep from ending up like that guy in the **Hellraiser** movie.

When the pins fly into the wall behind him they do not make a heart.

*

Sarah from Spanish is really cool. Her hair is super shiny, and she loves burritos, and she can roll her Rs better than anyone else in the class. She's pretty much the perfect woman. Except when she corners Joe over by his locker and asks him to the dance, blushing prettily and looking up at him with her big green eyes, Joe kind of accidentally says no.

*

"What do you mean accidentally?" Nick seems skeptical.

"I meant to say yes, but instead I said no." Joe thunks his head down on his bent arms and watches Nick unfurl another page of the flowchart he created to help himself select his own date for the dance. It's like 18 pages long. A few days ago Joe was telling him to stop needlessly murdering trees because love isn't a flowchart, love is- A river. Or something. But right now, Joe thinks maybe he has the right idea. At least Nick'll know for sure that the girl he asks has to be the right one, cause it's like, _science_.

"That's not an accident," Nick says. "You obviously want to go with someone else."

"Yeah, well-" Joe says. "Not really." He thinks about how steady Stella's hands are when she tucks a hem.

Nick raises an eyebrow and eliminates the entire girl's basketball team from his chart. Nick doesn't date tall girls. They make him feel like he's losing at _growing_ or something.

"I don't," Joe says stubbornly. He thinks about the way Stella's measuring tape feels when she wraps it around his waist. "It was an accident."

"Just ask her," Nick says.

"Ask who?" Joe thinks about the way Stella's hair smells when she leans in to steal one of the pencils from his bag. She always forgets to bring pencils, so Joe's learned to carry extras. Once Joe bought her an entire case of pencils for her birthday. It didn't help. Mostly she just used them to make this suit prototype thing during her found materials phase. It was- Not that comfortable. At least the pencils had been unsharpened when he sat on-

"Stella!" Nick says, sitting up straight.

"PencilHairNeverSaidHowDidYou- What?" Joe blurts out before he realizes that Stella's there, standing on the other side of the table. Glaring. "Oh. Hey, Stella." He keeps it cool and casual. He props himself on one elbow and smiles the smile that the photographer at **Popstar** magazine calls The Hombre. "Did you hear Sarah asked me to prom? Guess Eric's not so hot after all."

She blinks at him, and then reaches over to grab his tie from across the table. She gives his tie a quick jerk, yanking him forward, startled and off balance. She pulls a pair of scissors out of like, thin air or her bun or something, and snips the tie in half. Then she turns on her heel and storms away.

"So talk to you later," Joe calls after her, picking up the bottom half of his tie off the table.

Nick's smirking at him.

"What?" he snaps.

"What did you _do_?" Nick says.

"Nothing," Joe says. Nick stares at him. "I guess I kind of asked her to prom?"

"What do you mean kind of?" Nick says.

"Well, I said if neither of us had dates-"

Nick shakes his head, closing his eyes like he's in pain.

"And I guess I said she was-" Joe stuffs the end of his tie into his pocket. "Okay-looking?"

Nick winces.

"I meant it as a compliment!" Joe pulls the other half of his tie off his neck. Luckily, he always carries at least two spare ties, a hat and five pairs of sunglasses in case of an accessory emergency.

"Joe," Nick says, his jaw clenching like he's trying hard to keep from yelling. "If you want to take her to the prom, why didn't you just _ask her to the prom_?"

"I didn't say I wanted to take her-" Joe starts. He thinks about the way she always pinches him on the leg under the table whenever he says bad things about Roberto Cavalli. About the way her eyes get all sparkly whenever she buys new fabric, the way she makes him touch it before she cuts it. For luck. He thinks about how her fingers are rough, toughened with pin pricks and needle points, but the insides of her palms are so soft. He shrugs helplessly. So maybe he had kind of wanted to take her. "It's _Stella_ ," he says.

*

Nick makes him some kind of graph or something that's supposed to somehow prove that Stella's only mad because she actually wants him to ask her to the dance. Joe doesn't really get along that great with math; but hey, if math says Stella likes him then he's willing to re-evaluate his relationship with the Y axis. Then Nick writes a song for Joe to sing her. And Nick makes him like cue cards or something because he seems really, really sure Joe is going to mess the whole thing up. Which is kind of insulting; it's not like he's _Kevin_. But Joe tucks the cards into his pocket just in case.

He finds her over at her locker with Macy. She's ignoring him, which means he has to use Macy as a go-between and that makes the conversation not exactly what the cue cards said it was supposed to be.

"Could you please tell her that I'm sorry about-" He squints, trying to find the right words. "I mean. She's not okay-looking."

Stella's mouth tightens up so much it almost disappears, and her locker door slams shut. She doesn't look over at him. So those were probably not actually the words that were right.

"I meant-" He tries again. "She's very _good_ -looking." He raises his eyebrows. She still doesn't look at him, but her lips come back. And he thinks maybe they’re considering a smile.

Macy tucks her folded hands up under her chin. "You're very good-looking, Joe of Jonas."

"Um. Thanks," he says.

"Your eyes are so warm and brown and they have little gold-y flecks in the center. They look like they'd be soft if you touched them." She extends one stiff finger, and Joe jerks back reflexively.

"Okay. But could you tell her-"

"He says you're good-looking." Macy turns briefly to Stella before whipping back around to Joe, her clenched fists pressed to the center of her chest. "I gave a compliment from Joe of Jonas. His compliment touched my lips. It's almost like a little bit of that compliment is mine." She touches her lips, her eyes shining.

"So um-" Joe says uneasily. "About prom." Stella half opens her mouth, and he's sure the silent treatment is going to crack, but then her mouth snaps shut again.

"Oh my God," Macy breathes. "What are you wearing to prom, Joe? Of Jonas. Will it have lapels? I love you in lapels. Will there be flowers in your lapels? Will your hair be swept back or-" She pushes her own hair back, her eyes squeezed shut ecstatically. "Oh," She says, blinking. "Right-" She doesn't look away from Joe as she turns his message into, "Stella. Joe. Prom." Her voice slides up into a silent register only dogs can hear.

"Does anyone else hear like a- Noise?" Kevin stops beside them, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "Like a sort of high-pitched whine or-"

"Hi, Kevin of Jonas!" Macy says, giddy. "Joe gave me a compliment. Only for a second. It wasn't really mine, but I held it for a little while!"

"Joe never gives me compliments." Kevin frowns.

"You're not missing much," Stella says sourly. "He's not very good at it."

Joe groans. He grabs Kevin by the arm, and pulls him a little away from the girls, whispering. "Oh my God, I will give you so many compliments if you just take her-" He motions to Macy with his thumb. "Take her somewhere. Else."

Kevin cocks his head hopefully. "Like, how many compliments exactly?"

"A lot!" Joe says, his voice rising back to normal volume. "I love your haircut by the way. And your jacket looks really good today. With the- Elbows. And your belt! Has a buckle! That's so awesome!"

Kevin beams. "Thanks!" he says. "This is my favorite belt!"

"It's a really good belt," Macy agrees.

"It would go better with the gray tweed pants," Stella says, her head cocked, considering.

"Great, so-" Joe slants his eyes at Macy and makes a pushing away motion.

Kevin nods, and winks broadly. "Hey, why don't we go to the courtyard and we can talk about-" He grabs Macy by the shoulder, and then quickly pulls his hand back when she closes her eyes, her whole body trembling a little. "Um- We can talk about prom or-" She trails after him, her field hockey stick flailing wildly every time he says the word prom.

"Stella," Joe begs.

She has her arms crossed over her chest, but she motions with one hand for him to continue.

"I know I kind of said things that were stupid," he starts. "When we talked before. And I'm really sorry. But what I actually meant to-"

She sighs, shrugging with one shoulder. "It's okay. " She smiles a little sheepishly. "I might have overreacted. A little. And anyway, we both have dates so the whole thing is silly." She punches him on the shoulder lightly. "It all worked out in the end. Right?"

"Whoa!" Joe holds up his hands. "You have a date?"

She looks at him like she's not sure if he took a blow to the head. "Doug from Softball? Remember?" she said. "And you're going with Senorita Spanish Class."

"No, but-" Joe shakes his head. "The chart- And it's math so-" He almost pulls the chart out of his pocket to show her, explain to her that she can't be going with Doug, that she has to like _Joe_ because it's right there on the paper in black and white.

She laughs a little. "What are you talking about?

"Nothing," he mumbles miserably. "Everything worked out great."

*

"We have to kill Doug," Joe tells Nick.

"Who?" Nick says. He seems actually a little bit more open to the idea than Joe was expecting.

"From the softball team," Joe says impatiently.

Nick rolls his eyes, losing interest. "We're not killing anyone."

"Can we at least break his leg?" Joe says. "Just a little?"

"No," Nick says.

"Just enough that he can't dance."

"No."

Joe makes his saddest face, uses his best wide-eyed puppy dog look.

"Has that _ever_ worked on me?" Nick says.

Joe sighs. "There's always a first time."

*

Joe has to find a date. It's bad enough that Stella is going with stupid Doug and his stupid blond hair and his stupid shirts that he wears with their stupid sleeves. God, what does she _see_ in that guy anyway. But if she's going with Doug, and Joe's not going with _anyone_ … Well, that just can't be allowed to happen. Luckily, he's still a rock star. Even if Sarah from Spanish has already moved on to Eric, there are plenty of girls who'd shave their own heads to date him. Literally. In fact he's pretty sure **Popstar** magazine ran that contest last year. So without too much effort, he has a date.

"She's really pretty," he tells Stella at lunch. "Her eyes. And her face, you know?" He stabs at his lasagna with his fork, chops the heads off all his broccoli.

"Oh, good for her," Stella says sarcastically, making a whoopee motion with her finger. "She has a face." She mutters into her mac and cheese. "Lots of people have faces. I have a face."

"Yeah," Joe says glumly. He looks up, sneaking a glance while she's intimidating her mashed potatoes, looks as hard as he can at the pretty frown on her lips and the angry little groove right between her perfect eyebrows. He mumbles into his Coke, "You really, really do."

*

Joe buys his suit. Like at a store. He hasn't done that since- Well. Maybe he's never done that. Fitting rooms are incredibly confusing with like, math and tags and security and fluorescent lighting and mirrors that make you look fat. It's a nightmare. But it's worth it to avoid Stella measuring him for a new jacket, a new shirt, new pants. He doesn't think he can stand there and let her put her measuring tape around his chest, around his hips, and know that she's going to be dancing all night with some other guy who's wearing some other suit.

"You bought your suit?" Stella asks him. "From a store?" She looks like she might cry.

"Um- No?" Joe says. He just- Really doesn't want her to cry.

She holds the suit out to him. The tags are still attached, glaring accusingly when she shakes it in his face. "You didn't want me to make your suit for prom?" The fact that she's not yelling somehow makes it a thousand times worse. "You didn't trust me or you thought my designs are no good or-"

"No, I-" He snatches the suit from her, his fingers slipping rough over hers as he pulls. Just a little touch. He thinks of measuring tapes and her arms circling around his waist, her hair tickling under his chin. Dangerous. But he can't stand to see that hurt in her eyes, can't stand for her to think that he would ever not wear the clothes she makes for him. "I didn't even buy it for prom. I bought it for- A gift. For some other person who is not me. To wear somewhere that is not the prom." He crams the suit behind his back. "Geez, Stella." He laughs a little. "Of course you're making my prom suit."

She smiles a little wobbly, like she's not sure she believes him but she wants to. "Really?"

"I want to look good, don't I?"

She sniffles a little into his shoulder when she hugs him. He pretends not to notice.

*

"Take your shirt off," Stella says, her voice brisk, her hands efficiently tucking away the muslin she used to make a pattern for Nick's cumberbund.

"Um-" Joe hesitates. She's seen him without his shirt like, a billion times. It really shouldn't be a big deal. He just watched her measure Nick without his shirt and it wasn't a big deal at all. But this feels kind of like a big deal. "Do you really need to measure me? I'm pretty sure I haven't grown since the last time."

"Joe. Do you want your suit to fit or not?" She snaps her measuring tape threateningly. "Shirt off."

He pulls the shirt off over his head reluctantly, and when his head pops free, she's looking at him. Her mouth is a little bit open, and her cheeks are a little bit pink, and she's _looking_ at him. The skin all down his back prickles. He can feel his cheeks go hot.

She blinks, her business-like voice coming back when she says, "Arms out."

The tape wraps tight around his chest, and her hot hands just barely brush against him. He swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She looks very hard at the tape where the ends meet in front of him. He looks very hard at the wall behind her.

Stella's hair smells sweet and delicious like something you'd want to eat. And her arms press against his ribs when she reaches around his back with her measuring tape. Her fingers brush against his back, and Joe's breath hitches. When she looks up at him, her eyes are huge and dark and curious. She's so pretty, and she smells so good, and she touches his hip as she straightens up.

Joe doesn't really think he can be blamed for the fact that he kisses her.

His aim is a little bit off, and she makes a surprised noise into his mouth, and he has time to think this was a very, very stupid idea. But then the stiff shock goes loose and she curls into him, her lips soft and open, one of her hands reaching up to steady herself against his chest. He spreads his hands wide around her waist, pulls her closer, tighter.

When he breaks away enough to catch his breath, her lip gloss is smeared and she's got her measuring tape looped across the back of his neck. She pulls on the ends, pulls him back down to her, sucks at his bottom lip and smiles into his mouth. He strokes his fingers through her soft hair, mumbles into her slick, hot mouth.

"Hey, Stella," Joe says, his voice thick. "Will you go to prom with me?"

She laughs a little, so close he can feel it on his lips. "You! You're so-" She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and nuzzles against his jaw, her thumb stroking his collarbone. Her fingertips are a little bit rough on his skin. " _Now_ you ask me?"

"I was working up to it!" He kisses her again, again, little darting kisses that pull at her upper lip.

"I already have-" She kisses him back, her teeth scraping against his lip. "-a date."

"Details," Joe says airily as he fists his hand in her shirt. "I'll take care of the details." He leans into her with a contented sigh, watches her eyes flutter shut, her mouth tilted toward him, a little bit open in invitation. How hard can it be to break a guy's leg?


End file.
